


burial at sea

by v3ilfire



Series: i fought the war, but the war won [9]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:37:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7560358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v3ilfire/pseuds/v3ilfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About once a week, Fenris finds himself wishing that Hawke wouldn't be quite so eager to risk their lives for pointless and often less-than-profitable quests for treasure. About once a week, he finds himself in trouble because of these adventures, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	burial at sea

There was a tripwire, then a crash.  
  
“Shit!”   
“Step aside, Hawke, I’ll break it d--”   
“No! There’s a bad beam - you swing your sword and the whole damn thing comes crashing down on my head. _Fuck_ , this is bad.”   
  
Fenris hoped with his whole entire heart that Hesta felt his glare through the wooden slab trap door that just divided them, a pair _already_ separated from Isabela and Aveline by _more trap doors_. This would be the last damn time he’d let himself be talked into exploring some old shipwreck off the coast of Maker-knows-where on the vague hope that Isabela’s promises of profit were actually lucrative.   
“Even your understatements are dramatic,” he sighed, and to his dismay, he got laughter in return.   
“Less of an understatement in this case, and more of an under- _stair_ \-- oh, you can’t see that I’m under a staircase. Andrate’s crispy left asscheek.”   
“Hawke.”  
“Give me time to mourn the absolute waste of that moment. And don’t shake your head at me.”  
“I rolled my eyes.”  
“Roll them towards something we can use.” _That’s_ when he shook his head. The hallway Fenris found himself trapped in was useless at best; there was mostly debris: moldy planks of wood broken from the main structure of the ship, thus forming gaps that would render the vessel about as seaworthy as a cheesecloth were it not safely perched atop rock in the receding tide. He found it better not to think about the fact that they would be in grave danger once the tide rolled back in.   
  
Which was a whole hell of a lot sooner than Fenris thought it would be. After only a few minutes of rummaging about, the soft rush of seawater beneath them gave just enough warning to brace against the ship rocking just enough to cause concern. A string of curses fell against the other side of the door.  
“Hawke.”  
“I know.” The sense of imminent doom didn’t really settle over the elf until he heard a quiet tapping against Hesta’s side of the wooden slab. She was chipping away at it with a knife, and he... he had nothing. The ship rocked again.   
  
“What do you need me to do?”  
“Ooh, let’s see. You could sing a shanty, or give a rousing speech.” A suddenly much harder strike of Hesta’s blade made something on her side creak ominously. “Or just… not move.” Made even more restless by his helplessness, Fenris could barely stomach the thought of just sitting there and waiting. But, he had enough evidence that one wrong move would be the death of them both, so he sat down. More water rushed in, and the ship rocked again.   
“Are you making any progress?”  
“The wood’s damp and starting to rot a little bit, so yes. The scary bit’s that the rest of the ship matches and could crush me at any moment.” She sounded nervous. Hesta was nervous rarely enough for even the slightest twinge in her voice to be worriesome.   
“... Are you alright?”  
“You’re here. I’m fine.” Minutes passed at the pace of decades. Rush of water, sway to the left, gentle chipping. A heavy sigh, at some point. “Tell me a story.”  
“Wouldn’t Varric be better suited…?”  
“Varric’s not here, you are. Tell me about something good that happened to you.”   
“You.”   
  
The chipping stopped for just long enough for him to know she was smiling on the other side of the door. He couldn’t help but reciprocate.  
“Flirt. Isn’t it nice to be the _chipper_ one for --” Rush of water, sway to the right. Something above them crashed. “Shit. Shit shit shit. Fenris.”  
“Yes?”  
“Do you trust me?”  
“I don’t like where this is going, Hawke.”  
“I need you to break down the door.”  
“Did you not just --”  
“Do you trust me or not? Just -- aim low. _Please_. About where my knees would be. Trust that they won’t be.” Fenris liked that image even less, but there was another crash and the most vile barrage of curses to date. With no time to overthink it, he leapt to his feet and drew his sword, staring at the spot where her knees would be (but _won’t_ be, _but will not be_ ).   
“Ready, Hawke?”  
“Now!”   
  
He swung, and the noise that came immediately after was so deafening he hardly had the time to realize that Hesta had simultaneously rolled through the top of the door as it and everything behind it came crashing down, knocking him to the floor with her in the process. Neither of them managed to get so much as a greeting out when the floor underneath them gave as well, and the pair plummeted to the lower deck.   
  
Fenris was, somehow, more or less fine save for the wind being knocked out of him and some inevitable bruising. Judging by the way she curled in on herself, Hesta seemed a little less fortunate.   
“Hawke,” he wheezed.   
“I’m fine,” she pushed through gritted teeth. “Popped my _fucking_ shoulder out of place, but I’m fine. Let’s find the others and get out of here.” They both felt the ship lift just briefly off its cradle on the stones, that time. Hesta rolled over onto her back, scouring for a way back up to the main deck, but there was barely enough light filtering through for her to make out what was _up_. “Fenris, do you see anything?” He shook his head at first, but he quickly realized that the whole problem was that she couldn’t see much in the first place.   
“No.”   
“Maker’s rotting toenails, fucking -- did you hear that?” Fenris tried to quiet his breathing, to sort out the creaking of the ship from the water and the -- Isabela shouting? “They made it out. They made it out! You know what that means, don’t you?”  
“Do I want to?”  
“Only way to go is down.”

 

* * *

  
  
Aveline’s steady hands pried Hesta from Fenris’s grip and lead her, with the assistance of a rope, safely ashore while she held her dislocated shoulder firmly with her opposite hand. The Guard-Captain made the return trip for the elf with Isabela as the anchor, all of them sopping wet and miserable but somehow in one piece.   
  
As Isabela improvised a sling from the scarf she normally wore around her hip, Fenris and Aveline were left to watch the remains of the crumbling ship slowly dislodge from their rocky prison and float listlessly to its final resting place just beyond the shore. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Isabela said, not even trying to hide her shivering. Both Fenris and Aveline shot her a pointed look, neither happy about being drenched and about two minutes short of dead. Hesta, without failing, started laughing.   
“Whatever floats your boat.” 


End file.
